Stars
by Misplaced Levity
Summary: That was the day the Joker first saw her, sprinting through the streets with stars on her legs and chaos in her hair. AU-ish.
1. one

She sat doodling stars on her legs alone in the playground. She was an only child, therefore not here for a younger sibling, and a teenager, not there for herself. However, the playground was the close to her house and she didn't have a car yet.

Her blue and grey pocketbook lay on the table next to her and her faded red shoes flopped about carelessly, up and down with her legs creating a weird melody.

Samantha didn't know how much of an anomaly she was, sitting peacefully in Gotham. Her thoughts weren't focused on terror, the Joker, or getting laid, which were all very popular thoughts at the moment. No, her thoughts were focused on more futuristic things. College, jobs. Everything.

But her underlying thought was very common indeed. Getting the hell out of Gotham.

Most of her friends' parents had hauled themselves and their children out of the city as soon as they realized what a threat the Joker was. They imposed on relatives or used vacation funds for a hotel in a city far away until they got their feet in the job market. Whatever they could. In fact, Samantha had received the largest scare of her eighteen year life when she heard the ferries were rigged to blow. Her best friend and at least four of her other friends were on the civilian ferry, facing the hardest decision of their lives.

But now, weeks after the Joker's capture, no Samantha Jackson was content with making her pale white legs an inverted starscape.

As she finished off a star on her kneecap her blue and grey purse began singing. She glanced at it before sighing, sticking the pen behind her ear, and digging through the bag. She glanced at the phone before flipping it open. "Yeah, Mom. What? What?!" Samantha slammed the phone shut before grabbing her bag and sprinting off, away from the deserted playground.

The Joker was delirious with excitement. He hadn't realized how successful the day of one's escape from a mental facility could be. Not, however, that the day's only success was said escape. No, no, no. He'd done much more than escape.

Yes. Yes, for example, he hadn't merely escaped. He'd killed three orderlies, a fellow prisoner, and a doctor. Then he'd blown up a barn and set fire to some lovely cash crops. That was just the morning though. For lunch he killed some people at an overpriced grocery store and a mid-afternoon snack was killing some lawyers. He didn't know what dinner or desert would be, but just thinking of the possibilities-- oh., they just made him even more excited! He shook his head to try and clear his thoughts.

That's when he caught it. Oh no, not the terrified, is-he-mad? (yes!) looks his men sent each other (they could be such babies!). He knew they'd be gone soon enough anyway. It was the girl.

She was dashing down the sidewalk next to his spot at the park across from the lawyers' offices. He hadn't felt like leaving yet, preferring to stay until the police investigated the tip-off one of his men made about the Joker striking again. Of course, it was taking the police a while to get organized after the farm fires and grocery store killings. But there she was, nothing outstanding on any other day, perhaps, but today her dark brown hair was streaming after her in a tangled mess without even a band to hold the strands together and complacent. Her jeans were obviously not designed for long distance running, or even running at all, and her tight t-shirt was about as helpful.

He saw something fly out from somewhere on her head and skid to a stop next to his left foot. He looked down, startled. He hadn't realized he'd moved to the sidewalk. He picked up the pen and read the writing. "Jackson Tattoos-- For Remembering Forever." The other side listed a phone number. The Joker slid the pen into one of his suit's pockets and grinned.

The day the Samantha Jackson's father died was the day the Joker first saw her, sprinting through the streets with stars on her legs and chaos in her hair.


	2. two

Disclaimer: I own nothing. [Insert the rest of witty disclaimer here.]

AN: Sorry I forgot that last chapter. Don't be afraid to tell me if you don't like something! And thanks to firewhiskeyangel and TheatreGypsy14 for reviewing! I'm not really used to writing short-ish chapters, so tell me if you'd rather them be longer.

Chapter Two: Masks

Samantha had never really thought of how easily she slid her emotions behind a cool exterior. But today, oh God, today. Today she knew that talent would serve her amazingly well.

Funerals weren't for the family, Samantha decided, sliding on her black dress. If society cared about what the family wanted, society would let them rest in their beds with some Godiva chocolates as long as they damn well pleased.

But society called and Samantha listened.

She put her hair up while staring at herself in the mirror. She felt as if she was having a battle with herself, as if there was something she was missing.

After a second, the feeling passed and she realized she was crying.

That was the first time she cried over her dad's death. Right there, over the new porcelain sink he'd installed months ago. Her fingers clenched both sides of the white sink, trying to gain some support (emotional or physical, she didn't know) from its structure.

'Don't give your mother anything else to worry about!' Samantha scolded herself. Slowly, the tears stopped. She wiped her eyes and checked the mirror briefly to assure herself she didn't look like she'd been crying.

Eventually, she was ready. She walked down the stairs to where her uncles (one her dad's brother, the other her mother's.) and her mother sat in the living room, talking in hushed tones. 'Everyone's always quiet anymore,' Samantha thought, trying to think of anything but the one thought that kept popping up.

They drove to the graveyard soon after. Her parents' preacher spoke, her mother spoke, and her Uncle Louis (her dad's brother) spoke. Samantha didn't. She knew the mask would come tumbling down around her feet if she spoke.

Samantha unconsciously traced the vague outline of a star on her left kneecap.

After the condolences and everything, the rest of her family went back to the funeral home to oversee the last of the guests and food and preparations. Samantha swung open the door and walked to the businesses lining the other side of the street.

Before her father's death, she'd only smoked once. Her mother had smoked regularly (even while she was pregnant), but Samantha and her father thought it was gross. But she'd always found her knee-jerk reaction to stress was looking for a cigarette.

She didn't even realize how out of character it was for her when she'd asked the lady behind the counter for a pack of Marlboro. It'd felt right.

She took out the pack and grabbed one of the cigarettes. As she put it between her lips and started to fish around her purse for a lighter, she heard someone start talking.

"I always wondered how they felt, all pressed together like that. No, uh, roooom, for their own space." She looked up from beneath her hair to regard the newcomer. He was in the shadows, of course. All of Gotham was practically shadows. That's why that weirdo Batman got around so easily.

She lit the one in her mouth. Inhale, exhale. "They don't know any different. They don't think about it at all."

If she looked closely she could see a wicked grin, pulling his lips up so high it seemed the edges of his lips almost reached his eyes. He had a nice face shape, she guessed, and was about four or five inches taller than herself. His body reminded her of Cassius from Julius Caesar. Lean, hungry. She supposed his eyes would be that way, too. For what, she didn't know.

"Oh, you don't think any of them are smart enough to, uh, think ouuutside of the box, as it were?" His laughter was manic, and she wasn't sure whether she chuckled because of his words or because the laughter was catching.

"Nah. And if they did, the others would probably just scoff and stomp the thoughts out. It's not like people are that accepting."

"Oh-ho-ho. So we have, uh, transcended topics?" He paused and she thought she saw him lick his lips. "Well-uh, yes. I guess it does apply to humans as well,

She leaned back against the wall, smoking slowly. "They don't get a chance to change anyway. They're ripped from the carton before they can escape the box we put them in."

She had to go soon after. She didn't learn the man's name. She just looked up a few minutes after her comment to see why he was so quiet, only to find he'd disappeared. She wondered briefly why he was there and if he'd even heard her final comment. She decided it didn't really matter in the end. Maybe he was a relative, friend, or co-worker of the person scheduled for a funeral after her father's. She went back in and checked the white board to see who was next only to find it vandalized with "hahaHAHahA"s and squirrel eyes with creepy grins.

She decided not to tell her mother about the man. Sure, he was interesting, but it wasn't like he was even on the list of important things that had happened in her life lately.

On the ride home, her mother and uncles chattered about the turn out and other uninteresting things.

Samantha traced the faint stars and considered getting Uncle Louis to tattoo them on.


	3. three

AN: Thanks to ., TheatreGypsy14, and firewhiskeyangel for reviewing! I really appreciate it. I made this one longer, so I hope you like it!

Disclaimer: Again, I own nothing.

Chapter Three: Meetings

For a few weeks, Samantha didn't know what to do. She graduated, sure. But what now?

She knew her acceptances to all colleges out of Gotham were impossible now. Luckily, she had grudgingly applied to Gotham University and been accepted. Her dad had wanted her to go close to home.

Uncle Louis pulled a few string and got her in for the upcoming year. Her mother had protested, saying she would be fine on her own, but everyone knew her words were hollow.

Eventually, Sam volunteered to man the tattoo shop's front desk. She was an okay artist, sure, but she didn't have a license.

Her uncle did end up tattooing three of the stars on her left leg. The one on her knee cap, one on the inside of her thigh, and one in the middle of her thigh. She still caught herself tracing them sometimes.

-

It was about dinner time on a Friday when the real action started. Her uncle was in the back with a sixteen-year-old girl and the girl's mom. Sam swore she heard crying which made her smile a little. If the girl really was crying, she'd just earned ten bucks from Uncle Louis.

The front of the store was glass, so Sam spent all the time that wasn't occupied with customers staring through the glass. Oh, on her first day she'd looked through all the binders full of suggestions and tried drawing a few. But she got bored, so she began her habit of staring.

With the moon barely peeking out from behind those pesky clouds, Gotham was practically just a cloud of darkness although it was only about six in the evening. 'All the better,' mused Sam, 'for those insane Arkham escapees. Worse for me, though. I wonder which way I should take-'

That was when she saw the two who would become walking, living legends of Gotham City, itself.

The man, new, yes, but still talked about fairly often by those in the right circles, seemed to be dancing backwards, taunting someone. Of course, since he hadn't really made the front page yet, Sam only knew he was wearing white make-up over his face and a suit that didn't exactly look right.

Only once he had completely skipped out of her vision did the black-suited blur fly by the window. It took her a few minutes to put things together-- girls like her didn't see the Batman every day. Or any day, really.

For a while, Sam sat frozen. Even before the fear gas, she'd heard about the vigilante. No one really knew what he was about or for. He wasn't much of a public speaker. Sam had just known he had to be kind of weird. But... she'd figured she wouldn't ever see him. It was just surreal.

Uncle Louis and the customers came out, the mother laughing amiably with him. The sixteen-year-old stomped out of the store, sniffing and holding her left shoulder. Her left hand had the bag of lotions clutched in it.

The slam of the door knocked Sam out of her trance. She smiled at the woman with the perfectly manicured nails, perfectly bouncy hair, and perfectly nice laugh. "A small Tinkerbell on the shoulder? Well, with tax--"

The perfect woman didn't get to hear how much she was paying someone to stick needles into her daughter. The three heard a boom and saw stuff hurtling every which way. They realized something was headed right towards the far right panel of window. Sam ducked behind her desk and her uncle grabbed the woman and they both covered their heads with their arms.

Sam sat behind her desk for a few minutes longer than necessary. She stood up after a minute to see her uncle unconscious and the lady gone. She caught a glimpse of a black heel disappearing around the next building.

Sam knelt next to her uncle and felt a pulse, despite all the small cuts. He must've laid over the woman or something, Sam decided. Adrenaline suddenly coursing through her blood, she put in a call to 911, gave them the information, and hung up.

She followed the woman, of course. Curiosity might have killed the cat, but she was sure, living in Gotham, she was more likely to die by some stupid mob member or some crazy toxin. Right?

She found the lady weeping over the body of the teenager. "Is she alright?" Sam asked quietly. The woman merely sobbed more. Sam reached out to touch her shoulder, only to be stopped by a gloved hand grabbing her wrist.

"Uh, uh, uh! Lookee, but, uh, no touchee."

Sam blinked as the hand pulled her arm towards the rest of its body. She saw the purple suit, the green vest-- everything. She saw what she figured were deliberately mismatched socked and even the brown left shoe on his left shoe and black left shoe on his left foot.

'And my mom hated my clothes.'

"Candice, was it?" the purple man asked. He wasn't looking at the woman, Sam realized. His eyes were fixed on her face like... Well, she didn't really know anything comparable. The concentrated (freaky) eyes were outlined by black, his face was white, and his lips and... scars? Yes, they were red. Black, white, red, green, purple. Chaos, or cleverly designed... Distracters?

When he didn't get a response, he barked, "Candice!" The woman turned to them, suddenly not so perfect. Sam felt bad for ever feeling jealous of the poor woman, her eyes hopeless, her make up all over her now ruined clothing... Her daughter, whatever had happened to her... "Gooood. Now, uh. Move. I need my lovely little Samantha, here, to get a good look at my latest work."

Sam watched as the woman moved, slowly, as if she wasn't sure what she was doing. Two steps from her daughter, she collapsed into a wreck of sobs and moans. Sam moved towards her, only to find the man had moved behind her and grabbed her shoulders. Only when she stopped her feeble attempts towards the woman did his hands turn her head towards the teen.

That was when the adrenaline that had kept her thinking, had kept her moving, ran away in abject terror.

The girl who had joked with her mom as she walked into the shop, who had mentioned getting her braces off a week ago... She was barely recognizable.

Sam guessed the girl had been near whatever had exploded. One of her arms was missing, her legs were grotesque. The skirt she'd been wearing barely covered anything. Her stomach had a J carved into it and her face was an imitation of the man standing behind Sam. The blood from the upward gashes was spread around the girl's eyes, wide with terror. Had she died of blood loss? Or from the explosion-- no. Sam didn't want to know.

"Do you, hehe, like it?" The man turned Sam around slowly, watching her stricken face morph into a bland, expressionless face. She opened her mouth just as the ambulance sirens reached their ears. "Ah, somethin' always ruins the fun! Here, darlin', we'll meet again!"

With that, the man tucked a card into Sam's back pocket, slapped it with a lewd expression, and ran into a nearby alley.

Even Sam knew a cat curious, no, insane enough to follow that man into an alley would die.

So she ran to tell the paramedics who was where.

-

The Joker knew he couldn't have hoped for any better. It was a first meeting-- with both of them as themselves, for once, instead of her with that silly, I'm-fine, transparent act and him with his normal civilian act.

He hadn't expected the Batman to be out so early, he hadn't noticed how dark it was getting. That was strange for him-- but it'd turned out nicely.

He had been leaning against a building two blocks down from the tattoo place she worked in. He was trying to decide whether she'd look better with a grin identical to his or a permanent frown instead.

Then, pow! A fist to the groin. The Joker doubled over and burst into hysterical laughter, trying to figure out how he hadn't seen that one coming, when his hair was yanked upwards.

"What are you doing?" was growled. The laughter just increased. The Batman still held the Joker up by his hair, so the Joker jumped into the air and kicked out, propelling himself into the wall and the Batman out into the street. He started prancing backwards, joking with Batman about how he was already acting so familiar, with this only their second meeting!

He was at the end of the block with the shop Sam worked in when he pressed the detonator. The car he'd planted a week ago by the cafe blew up, parts blasting everywhere. The Joker himself had to fling himself to the ground to avoid being decapitated. He bet she wouldn't be able to ignore that.

"Well, Bat! I've still got another detonator to push, if you'd like! You look so disappointed by that, uh, that last one! Here, I'll give you a hint! It's like, it's like a fun little game! Lives are, uh, decided here. Boom!" The Joker pushed the button with his pinky finger dramatically. Batman took off, but the Joker had a feeling he'd find the courthouse in perfect condition. One of his idiots had probably screwed something up. It didn't really matter whether or not it was an accident.

He saw a girl laying on the sidewalk a few yards down. He skipped over and performed a little cosmetic restructuring while he waited.

When a woman came up to him, sobbing, all he had to do was pull her off the ground by a handful of auburn hair to get her name. He waited in an alley until the perfect moment.

-

As the police officer took down her statement, Sam realized something huge she'd overlooked. How had he known her name?


	4. four

A/N: Sorry this is kinda short, but I wanted to get something out. I'll be at a writing thing for a couple weeks, but I'll try to keep writing. I probably won't get anything published but I'll probably get a few chapters out when I come back.  
And I just realized a few days ago that I intended this to be humor. It's kind of more dark though, isn't it? I'll change it after I publish this.

And I know everyone says this, but really, I want to know how well I'm doing with the Joker. That was my main worry with writing a Joker story. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: Not mine.

-

Chapter Four: Thoughts

The police took her statement, but they didn't take the memory of that poor girl's face. They gave her three men to guard her, but no one would ever give her absolution.

She knew her hero complex was spiraling out of control, but she also knew she could've tried something. She could've-- should've tried something, but she didn't. She even let him touch her.

The lady-- Fiona Carpenter-- was in the hospital. She'd tried killing herself in her dead daughter's bedroom. Sam's uncle was recovering, if slowly, but Sam could tell he was scared.

Everyone was scared. And she hadn't even told anyone but the police that he knew her name! She knew it'd probably get out eventually. She didn't know whether the press would be interested in it, but even if they weren't her family could get it. The press knew the police were rotting from all angles (outwards, downwards, backwards, and probably even diagonally and in zig-zags.) and her family had a few friends in the police force.

Sam was going insane with cabin fever. No one had wanted her to leave the house, but it had been a few days and she was sick of caring what other people wanted.

"I'm leaving!" Sam yelled, grabbing her purse and walking through her mom's apartment. "The guards'll be with me."

Sam didn't wait to hear her mom's protests. She ran.

-

The three guards ran behind her, of course. Only one of them didn't know the plan that would start in exactly two days.

-

Sam ran to the park she'd been so peaceful in only weeks before. She knew it was hopeless to try to get that feeling of relaxation again. No. Not when the calm memories of see-sawing with her dad and swinging to touch the tree's leaves had been replaced with a new memory. The memory of ice running through her veins as she heard those words. "He's had a heart attack," Sam muttered, scoffing her tennis shoes against the picnic table's bench.

Sam traced the star on her knee like she had been practically obsessively for the past few days. It felt like she'd drawn it eons ago, but the calendar looming over her bed at home told her she was insane.

She laid back on the table, staring at the clouds. It was a normal day. Children were playing, falling, yelling. Parents were watching, smiling, talking.

Sam was just drifting off when her cell phone started ringing. Her eyes widened and she searched through her purse frantically, wondering if this park was bad luck.

"Mom? Are you okay?"

Sam's mom sounded cross. "Of course I'm not, with you runnin' off like that! You got mail, though. From a J. Smith. Looks interesting."

Sam sighed. "Of course, Mom. I'll be home before dinner."

"I'm not making dinner, can't you remember anything? I'm off to see Louis. Take care." The line was dead before Sam's mouth had even opened. She dropped the phone dejectedly before returning to her thoughts.

After a few hours of all sorts of thoughts, Sam was interrupted by one of the officers. She'd noticed the other two whispered a lot and figured he was the new guy.

Sympathy or empathy or pity or some stupid emotion. That's what she would tell herself, later, that made her let him sit next to her.

"Evan Whitmoore," the man said, sticking his hand out and smiling earnestly. "The other guys seemed eager to talk about somethin' private, so I decided to take my break."

Sam smiled a little and shook his hand. "Are they really good friends or something?"

"Brothers, they told me. But they look mighty different to me. Ain't my business, though."

Sam smiled a little more this time, hearing her dad's country accent eerily through this man. "I guess every family has a black sheep."

Evan grinned widely. "Ain't that the truth."

Sam was about to respond when she realized how dark it was getting. "Oh, man. We'd better get moving."

And another day without him was gone.

-

Compared to the average Gothamite (but what Gothamite was average?), Sam was sad. Compared to the average human, Sam was counting the days with a bit of depression. Compared to the Joker, however, Sam was completely suicidal.

In fact, while Sam was walking home and going to sleep, the Joker was hopping around his office, gleefully shooting holes in the wall and knocking over stacks of paper left by the late previous tenant. (In fact, the Joker jumped on him a few times, but was disappointed with the differences between his stomach and a trampoline.)

He'd just come up with a brilliant idea. Hostage situations were getting so, uh, dull. And although dull knives were fun sometimes, dull times were just unacceptable!

Abruptly, the Joker stopped jumping and cackling and started licking his lips and thinking again. There were a few more situations to consider before things started rolling.

First, he'd need a background check. Then, an insider to torture.

Oh, yes. Yes, this would be fun.


	5. five

A/N: Sorry it's been so long. Camp was great, but now I'm back! Thanks for the reviews everyone!

Disclaimer: As always, nothing belongs to me. And I'd love any constructive criticism.

-

Chapter Five: A Letter

To: Sammygirl

From: J. Smith

Hey, kid. You probably don't remember me, but we met once or twice. I found your name in the phone book and decided to connect with you the old fashioned way.

If you want to be friends, leave your shutters open tonight. I don't have a regular address, so I want to make sure we connect.

Talk to you later (or not).

J. Smith

-

Sam glanced over the letter and threw it in the garbage. It had to be a stalker or a weird interactive public service announcement. Jim Gordon, J. Smith. It almost made sense.

She mentally noted to shut her normally open shutters and check every door and window before she went to bed.

"Sam?" her mother's voice floated through the apartment. "Have you seen my new pencil skirt? I have to leave for work in five minutes!"

Sam chewed her Reese's Puffs for a few minutes and stared past the three guards and out the kitchen window. The men conversed over the sports section of her Gotham Times as a crow flew past the window.

"Honey? Sam!" her mother snapped as she stomped down the hallway to the kitchen. "Did you hear me?" She pointed at her blue sweatpants. "I can't exactly go to work in these."

"Yes, I heard you. It's on top of the dryer." Sam lifted the spoon to her mouth again.

"Thanks," her mother said, casting a helpless look her way. She stomped off to the laundry room, throwing her disheveled hair up into a bun. "Look, I should be home by seven, and then we'll have dinner together. Louis told me last night he couldn't wait to see you today, so don't forget!"

"Yeah, Mom," Sam said, keeping her eyes focused out the window. The crow circled the street a few times before perching on a windowsill in the apartment opposite.

Her mother hurried back into the kitchen and grabbed a doughnut from the box in the middle of the table. Heels hung from her right hand and a purse dangled from her shoulder. "Okay, I've really got to go. Love you, Sam," her mom said before sprinting across the apartment and flinging open the door.

Sam trudged to the door and shut it, hearing the elevator ding in the distance.

-

The room was white, with only a trimming of light blue at the very top of the walls. Two white beds, two white bedside tables, and two chairs occupied the room, but both chairs stood beside the bed closest to the door. The television hung in the center of both beds, but the man closest to the window held the remote.

"Can't believe you don't like television," the man mumbled, shifting in bed and making an awful crackling sound. Wrinkles dominated the man's face, and the little hair he had wrapped around the sides of his head in white tufts.

The man in the other bed rolled his eyes and ran his hand through the brown hair on his own head. He opened his mouth to reply, but the door creaked open and shut as Sam strode in.

"Hey, Uncle Louis. How's everything?" she asked, smiling and sitting in the chair closest to his head. "I hear Gotham General's got the best food of any hospital around."

Louis scrunched up his face and took her hand in his. "Let's hope not, the patients in the other hospitals must be desolate." He shook his head though and smiled again. "I'm glad you came to see me. Your mom said you were okay, but I was worried."

Sam glanced away and up to the television where Mike Engel was standing in front of some yellow tape. "I wonder if they'll catch that freak," the old man in the other bed grunted. The headline at the bottom of the screen read "Another Joker Card Revealed: Is our police force competent?"

"Why didn't you tell us he knew your name?" Louis asked, never taking his eyes off of Sam. She flinched and glared at their clasped hands. "That's big, Sam."

"You're worried enough."

They sat in silence for ten more minutes. A nurse stepped in, leaving the door open behind her. The hospital's phone rang, and she chomped on her gum and grabbed her hip with her left hand. "Sorry honey, visiting hours are over." The nurse twirled a strand of yellow hair and continued over to the other man's bed. "Hey, Charlie. Any blood in your stool?"

-

"So, how was Uncle Lois?" Sam sat in front of the window and her mom sat to her right. A box of Roxy's Pizza laid propped open in front of them, and greasy paper plates slid back and forth on the wood table.

"He looked bored," Sam muttered and bit into her pizza. She ripped her piece from the rest of the triangle and chewed as her mother continued staring.

"Hey! A Phillies game is on tonight!" one of the guards in the next room exclaimed and a flurry of movement interrupted the silence. A click and sports commentary followed, and Sam's mom glared into the living room.

"I don't see why they're following you, it was probably just a coincidence," she muttered, cutting a small piece of pizza off with her fork and knife.

Sam nodded and took another bite.

"I bet it's just because your father died. Uncle Lois must've asked the commissioner, they went to college together, you know. He's probably worried I can't take care of you." A piece of pizza slipped between her lips.

"Mom, I think it might be because he's a crazy murderer," Sam said, shrugging her shoulders and pushing the plate with half of her pizza still on it away.

"Yeah, that's what your uncle wants us to think. We can take care of ourselves, Samantha. Tell your friends that tomorrow, okay? I'm getting sick of their chatter."

"Go, go, gogogogogogo!" two of the guards started yelling. They finally exploded into a chorus of "Yes!"es as Sam's mom raised an eyebrow at her.

"No, Mom."

"What? Sam, you know this is pointless," her mom responded.

"Mom, shut up." Sam stood up and grabbed her plate. She passed the trash can, dumped her plate inside it, and stomped down to her room.

"Aww, man! Come on, Lee!"

-

The walls were red, but very little of the paint peeked out from behind magazine cut outs and pictures with friends. The bed was crammed into the corner and its green sheets hung off the side. A pillow lay crookedly at the top.

Clothes piled into a mountain in the corner next to the closet and hangers with and without clothes poked out of the half shut closet door. The hardwood floor was bare other than a few shoes haphazardly thrown around.

Sam stomped in, shaking her head and pulling her t-shirt over her head. She threw the shirt into the mountain and snatched a long white shirt off of its hanger without opening the closet door further. She unhooked her bra, throwing it to the pile, and wrestled the t-shirt on before falling onto her bed.

She stared up at her ceiling while toeing the sheets at the bottom of the bed. "Why are you going to sleep so early, darlin'?" asked a voice from the closet.

Sam's arms shot to either side of her body and helped her rachet herself up. She hopped off the mattress and walked over to the corner opposite the closet. "Who the hell do you think you are?" she asked as her hands started shaking.

The closet door slid open and the man stepped out of it. He hunched over and his green stringy hair fell over his eyes. "Who do yooou think I am?" he asked.

Samantha tried backing up further, tried clawing at the walls that made the corner, tried to think. He chuckled and grinned up at her through the hair. He took a step forward and waved his hand in a gesture that, from someone less threatening, might have been comforting. Her breath came short and quick, and finally he strode forward and shook her by the shoulders. His eyes opened as wide as they could and he stuck his nose right into hers. Her breathing slowed and she took control of her body again.

But she didn't try to wrench away from the man the way her body wanted to. She tried to keep the reaction at bay.

"Sorry," she said after the clown merely stared for a few minutes. "I'm not used to criminals stowing away in my room."

His smile grew, the scars sending shivers down Sam's spine with the added monstrosity. "You can't stow away on something that doesn't move, kid," he said, leaning into her. "You didn't close your blinds."

Her eyebrows rose and her eyes widened as her mouth dropped. "Shit," she muttered.

He smothered the cackles with his hand. He'd stumbled on her mother's room right next door on the way to this room at the end of the hallway. "That hurts, Sammy! I thought I was real sociable the last couple times we met. Worry not, though! We'll be the best of friends," he whispered into her ear, breathing a few strands of brown hair out of the way.

Sam shook her head and slammed her eyelids shut. "This isn't something I can just wait out," she grumbled, curling her feet up in her sandals. "You'll just keep coming back."

He turned away and pointed to the card pinned up next to her closet. "Shouldn't, ah, shouldn't you have given this in as ev-i-dence?" he asked, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. Familiar laughter, Sam realized. Her father's funeral!

"Um, yeah," she muttered, edging left, towards the door. "They thought it was funny and gave it back to me."

He spun around, she froze, and he stalked towards her again. "Well!" He smacked his lips and braced both elbows and hands on either side of her head, leaning down to touch his forehead to hers. "That's just my goal in life, to, uh, entertain! The ranks of shitty policemen," he said, drawing his forehead back and slamming it forward into hers again.

Colors exploded in her head and she fell to the floor, cradling her head, as he tittered. He grabbed a card and red pen from his jacket and crouched over her. She cringed, but he laid the card over her shoulder, ripped the lid of the pen off with his teeth and scribbled "Friends?" over the one-legged Joker. He stood up and threw the pen at her. The window over her bed creaked open and slammed shut, blocking out the sounds of his fading laughter.


	6. six

Disclaimer: Nothing's mine.

-

Chapter Six:

_July 14th, 10:23 PM_

_I should call the police. "911, hey, yeah, the Joker just jumped out of my closet and attacked me. Yeah, I'm alive... Yeah, there's this card... Yes, the one that's killing everyone! Look, just send the fucking police!"_

_But... I don't see them doing much anyway. Dad never really believed they did. "Oh, Sam. You're so idealistic. The only way we'd get the cops here," even though we're three blocks from GCPD, "is if we massacred city officials. Carry mace, a knife, gun, taser, whatever."_

_Mom's better off not knowing, maybe I'll tell Uncle Lois... Fuck, what happened to my life?!_

_I'm gonna sleep on this. Or try._

_Sam._

_-_

Various colors and sizes of filing cabinets crowded the room, outlined the walls, and created a miniature maze. In the middle of the room, a brown couch and television stood against a row of the taller filing cabinets. A line of filing cabinets parallel to the TV and couch was decorated with multiple newspaper clippings.

The Joker laid on the couch, his arms, shoulders and head dangling off the armrest and fingers scraping the floor. He scraped his uneven, yellow fingernails against the blue shag carpet and stared at the television. An Avon commercial blared throughout the room, yelling over the hoots and curses of the poker game outside his door. The Joker couldn't afford to murder all of his idiotic henchmen tonight.

Finally, the three short notes signaled Gotham City News' start. Joseph Watson _(oh, God, was he annoying)_ nodded severely to the camera and shuffled his papers. "Hello, Gotham. In today's news, sixth grade teacher Elizabeth Walters from Gotham Middle School was reported missing this morning by the school principal. There are no leads at the moment," good old Joey said, staring intently at the camera lens with his thin dark lips pursed and his eyebrows straining to meet. "Police Commissioner Loeb didn't respond to calls from GCN, but an unidentified source tells us her mother and boyfriend are among the suspects."

The Joker giggled and flopped upward, sitting up and facing away from the television. He clapped his hands and spun back to the television, crossing his legs and leaning forward. The door to the room, rows and rows away from the Joker, clanked open and a bald head peeked in. After looking both ways, the man entered the room completely and tip-toed around the aisles until finally coming to the Joker. The news ended with three short notes just as he approached the couch.

"Weeeell? What's the scoop?" the Joker asked, hopping up and down on the cushions.

"The men that replaced the guards recommended the uncle in the hospital," the bald man grunted and wiped his hands on his jean shorts.

"Yessss?" The bouncing stopped and the Joker's grin curved higher.

"We-well, the men said you w-would know what to do." His hands left his shorts and pulled at the neck of his sweat-stained white wife beater.

The bouncing resumed, quicker this time, and the Joker clapped. "I find it so, uh, delighting," he said as his voice dipped and flew through the different pitches, "how incompetent thirty, uh, men can be. Do you, uh, not have one joint brain ceeeell?"

"Sorry?" the henchman asked and continued fidgeting with his shirt.

"Uhhh, no." The Joker tilted his head, raised his eyebrows and bounced over the back of the sofa. The man stumbled backward and banged his head against the corner of the beat up three-shelved red filing cabinet.

Unfortunately for him, he was still conscious.

-

Sam's head still throbbed the next day. When she finally peeled herself off the floor the night before, she examined the bruise in the mirror. It didn't bleed, so she collapsed on her bed, vaguely hoping she didn't have a concussion.

It took even more effort to propel off of the bed than it had to peel herself off the floor. She lurched into the bathroom and patted her hair into some semblance of order. She smeared a little cover up over the bruise and staggered back into her room to change into acceptable clothing.

She dragged her feet into the living room. She flipped on the television and grabbed a bagel, collapsing on the blue couch across from the television. Joseph Watson's voice drifted through the room as Sam bit into her breakfast.

Sam's eyes drifted close as the commercials blathered, but whenever the news theme dinged, they shot back open. After about half an hour of this, her mother plodded in.

"Honey, I heard a thud from your room last night. Did you break something else?" she asked, slipping red dangling earrings on.

"Nah. Sorry, just tripped and hit my head on the wall," Sam muttered, her eyes focused on the news.

"You've definitely got your father's coordination," her mother continued. "Only you two could find a way to slip on an empty floor."

Sam nodded and bit her bottom lip. "Yeah. Hey, I was just wondering, when the police first set up the guards and everything, did they say something about watching the entrances over night?"

Her mother slid her high heels on. "Did you hear something last night? Sam, you're not usually the paranoid type."

"No, nevermind."

-

People mulled around the newsroom, grabbing purses they left here and cell phones buzzing there. Joseph Watson slumped back into his chair, relaxing his muscles and staring at the newsroom's ceiling.

"JoeJoeJoeJoe!" an intern chanted, hopping up to the platform and waiting on his left side. Her blonde hair bounced off of her shoulders and her painted lips curved together into an innocent smile.

"What?" he asked, standing up and pushing his chair back. He brushed off his shirt and strutted off the platform with the young female trailing.

"There's a man outside from CNN!" the girl said, watching Watson's face carefully.

"Really? Did he say what he wanted?" he asked, slowing down and turning to watch the girl.

"No, just asked for you, sir!" she said, beaming upwards and clasping her hands together.

"Well, thank you," Watson muttered without even looking at the girl and her never-failing grin.

He strode off, muttering to himself. The girl's smile dropped and she ran to the back exit with her heels click-click-clicking. The door was old and heavy, with an old red "Open and Trigger Alarm" sign pasted on crooked. She shoved into it with her shoulder after looking to see if anyone was around. The alarm stayed silent, and she stepped out into the alley. She stuck a small wooden wedge between the door and the frame and leant against the wall by the metal trash can.

She yanked a pack of lite generic brand cigarettes out of her tight skirt pocket, lit one, and shoved the pack back in place. Two minutes later, a broad-shouldered man in a suit rounded the corner. He shuffled towards her, fidgeting in the fancy wear. "Well?" he asked.

"I did it, sir. Where's my hundred dollars?" she replied, breathing smoke into his face.

"College is expensive, ain't it?" the man grunted, shoving a wad of bills into the girl's hands. "Boss says he'll send someone if there's anything else you can do."

The girl nodded, fingering the bills and stuffing them down her blouse. "Will I ever meet this boss?" she asked before taking another drag of her cigarette.

"Better hope not, angel," the man laughed. He stomped down the alley again, turning left and disappearing from her view. She shrugged, tossed the cigarette to the ground, and opened the door, sliding in and kicking the wedge out.

--

Sam hadn't moved from the couch all day. Her stomach growled for attention every few minutes, but she just laid a hand over it and continued staring at the ceiling.

A sitcom played, but the laughs and hoots didn't register. But the laughter did register when it turned manic and the hoots turned to screams.

She turned her whole body, resting her head on her left arm and staring at the TV sideways. The grey on the screen receded and became part of a face-- the Joker's face. The laughter continued for a few minutes and Sam removed her arm from under her head and wrapped it around her chest, moving her knees up just below her arm.

"Good morning, afternoon or ev-en-ing, Gotham!" the macabre man announced, throwing his arms to either side of his head. The camera on his right hand swung out and showed the white water-stained walls closing him in. "I've got a new guest, today. Uh, but he's a liiittle itsy-bitsy camera-shy, so we're just gonna wait till he warms up a little." The white walls gave way to multicolored filing cabinets, it looked like. The camera steadied, but continued to bob up and down a little.

"Anyyways, you might have seen me walking around town and wanted to say hi, but you weren't quite sure what to say." He paused to giggle and swung the camera back and forth. "Well, I alllways love talking about the cheese of the month! Oh, and... Wait, I think our guest is ready! Yes, yes, yes. Yes he is." The camera did a one hundred and eighty degree turn and landed on a man with brown, blood-matted hair and dark eyes. His professional shirt was torn and stained with red as well. "Say hello to your friendly neighborhood reporter, Joseph Watson!"

Sam shrunk back into the couch and covered her mouth with her right hand as Joseph cringed at the camera. "Now, Joey! You're always so verbose on the daily news, why not, why not tell us a little bit about yourself for once, hmm? Like your, uh, your astounding liquor and drug collection? Or, uh, your fresh of the press eighteen-year-old girlfriend?"

Joseph blinked rapidly and brought a hand to his head. "Will you still kill me?"

The Joker laughed maniacally for a few minutes, which caused the video jumped up and down and in circles. Sam slowly sat up, clenching her hand around her mouth. "Ooooh, Joey Joey Joey. Now I am most definitely going to kill you."

The video cut off and Joseph Watson's usual co-anchor stared through the screen, as white as the mug that sat in front of her. Cindy Rafters shuffled her papers for a few seconds, opened her mouth to talk, shut it, and opened it again. "I... Well... This is a tragedy. Joseph Watson was... He was a professional.." Sam lunged for the remote on the table at the side of the couch and jabbed the off button. Cindy's face disappeared and the black screen replaced it.

"What the fuck am I going to do?" Sam muttered, bringing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. "I am going to die a horrible, gruesome death on national television."

--

"Hey, Uncle Louis," Sam muttered, pushing through the door and closing it quietly after her. The bed opposite her uncle was now empty, made up neatly with the pillow lying perfectly parallel with all sides of the bed. She brushed a small braid of her hair behind her left ear and leaned against the wall. "I snuck in, by the time I decided to come visiting hours were ending."

She shuffled to the bed and sat down in the seat. "Hey, Sam. Glad to see you're willing to break a few rules to see an old man like me," he said, taking her hand and squeezing it. "What's wrong?"

"What?" Sam asked, looking up from their joined hands. "How'd you know there was something wrong?"

Louis smiled and tapped his pinky finger against her hand. "I think sometimes you forget your dad and I were brothers. He told me how whenever you have a problem you braid your hair. And there are at least a dozen minibraids in that mop of yours."

Sam tugged at the braid behind her ear. "I guess I don't really notice it," she said, pushing her finger through the braid and separating it. "Better than smoking though," she continued with a pointed look.

Louis raised his hands in front of his body. "Yeah, you caught me. But you're not going to distract me that easily. What's the problem?"

Sam took a deep breath and scooted her chair closer to his bed before leaning back in the chair. "You've got to promise not to freak out."

Louis raised his eyebrows and swung their hands back and forth. "You know I'm the calmest one of the family."

"Yeah, yeah. Okay." Sam took another deep breath before continuing. "The Joker, he... Jumped out of my closet last night. And he left another one of those creepy cards."

Louis sat up in his hospital bed, dragging her to sit up straight in her chair as well. "Sam, why haven't you told anyone?"

"You know the police," she muttered, resting her forehead on the bed. "It seems stupid now, to not have called the police. But it seemed just as stupid then to call them."

Louis tapped her with their hands. She looked up. "I know your dad was always into that shitty "let them make their own mistakes" philosophy, but call the police. He didn't believe in them, sure, but that doesn't mean you don't have to."

Sam stared up at her uncle. "I guess. I'll think about it."

He smiled and nodded his head. "It's ten pm, they'll probably be checking in soon. Come back tomorrow when you're allowed," he said, patting her hand before moving his away and laying down again. "It was good seeing you."

Sam nodded and slipped out the door and down the hall.


	7. seven

Disclaimer: Nothing's mine.

A/N: Sorry it took so long, I've had the chapter finished for a while but was too worried it would suck, which is illogical. It'll suck just as much if I put it up next year. Sorry, again. And if you find anything wrong or unclear, just review. I know my writing's not quite perfect. Enjoy!

--

He was propped up against the cot, which was unstable enough to be leaning against the wall itself. Tied up and gagged, Louis couldn't really move. So, he decided to hope that his crazy niece decided to call the cops and miraculously get that God damned madman in a cell, before said future mental patient (they had to catch him eventually, right? Right...) came into the suspiciously stained room and cut him into unrecognizable strips of meat.

"Good morning, Louis Jackson." Louis heard the voice before he realized he wasn't alone in the room. He glanced away from the rope binding his legs together. A few feet above him with a different perspective than all the quickly snapped, pixellated cell phone pictures and morbidly skewed portraits (by deranged artists that were reported dead soon afterwards) was the man that would end him and many others.

A brief pause before Louis realized he was supposed to respond. "Joker," he grumbled from behind the rag. The Joker's grin stretched up and he knelt down. His nose brushed Louis's. Louis flinched back as the Joker cackled.

"Welll, I can see you and your niece have, uh, very little in common." The Joker tilted his head to the side and walked his index and middle finger up Louis' chin and brought them together around the rag. "But maybe you're just, just a little shy?" he asked, slowly inching the dirty rag out of his captive's mouth. "Sam, uh, she wasn't." His left hand started tapping out a beat on his knee.

Louis spit to the side, smart enough to realize at this point, death could only get more painful. "I know you're trying to piss me off," he muttered, knowing even as he said it, the Joker's plan was working.

The tapping became more erratic. "Yeah, yeah. Doesn't help, does it? You still know that I'm going to find her after we finish up, maybe scar her up a little. Maybe emotionally, maybe mentally. Definitely, uh, definitely physically," he said, opening his mouth in a grin and showing off his stained teeth. "I can tell you're people smart. It must, uh, run on your side of the family."

Louis rested his eyes for a few seconds. This would be a long death.

--

Sam sprawled on her bed, half of her comforter on her torso and covering her head, the other half creeping down the bed. Her legs twitched and she muttered as she slept.

The door to her room flew open, banging against the wall and knocking down a yellowed photo of a three-year-old girl and her mother. "Sam!" her mother screeched, slipping across the hardwood floor in her office heels. She banged her knees against the wood and the mattress as her elbows landed on Sam's hair under the comforter. She leaned back and ripped the comforter completely off and shook her daughter's shoulders back and forth, choking back tears and sobs. "Samantha Jackson!"

Sam jolted upwards, her eyes flinching at the light. "Yeah?" she grumbled and wiped at her eyes.

"Your uncle! He's," Sam's mother took a breath and grasped her daughter's hands. She wrung the hands in her own before looking away. "Disappeared."

Sam scrambled off the bed, away from her mother and towards her closet. She inched it open and peeked around before grabbing a t-shirt from a hanger. "But I just saw him last night," she muttered to herself.

"You went in after visiting hours?" her mother asked, sniffling. She swatted at her eyes with her left hand and dropped it back to her lap. "That's the only way, I was there when they ended."

"Yeah, Mom. I had to ask him something." Samantha pulled her t-shirt on over her tank-top and hopped over a pair of shoes to her dresser. "Is... Do they know who it was?"

"No... No. He didn't have any enemies that I know of," she whispered, perching on Sam's bed. "The police said they'd be here in a few minutes."

Sam nodded and grabbed a pair of jeans from the top drawer. "Okay, I'll be out soon." Her mom nodded back and tottered back out of her room, shutting the door behind her.

---

Louis was only partially tied anymore, the ropes round his leg had loosened and the ropes binding his arms behind his back had been ripped by one of the clown's many knives. It didn't matter, he'd screamed too much, squirmed too much, fought too much. He laid on his back on the concrete floor, staring up at the mostly burnt out strip of lights above him, too exhausted to think. His hospital gown was slashed and bloodied. The Joker rested against the wall, tossing a scalpel and catching it, tossing and catching.

"What, just what," the Joker wondered aloud, casually leaning forward to look at Louis' face, "do those lovely stars on her legs mean?" The scalpel glimmered in the dim light as it flew up and back into his hand.

Louis groaned and blinked. He readjusted his eyes and focused on the ruined grease paint. "Hell if I know. Wouldn't tell me."

The Joker flashed Louis a grin. He wrapped his fingers securely around the scalpel's handle. "I'm not quite sure if I, uh, believe that, Louie."

Louis took a breath as deep as he could and slid his hands against the concrete floor for purchase. He slowly brought himself beside the Joker and collapsed on the wall. "She said they... were for things she lost. That's all." He brought his left hand up to a gash on his stomach and clutched the skin and bits of fabric.

"That won't help," the Joker commented evenly, throwing the scalpel in the air again. "I, uh, I could just end it real fast. Or stop."

"Yeah, you could," Louis groaned, glaring up at the man and jamming his chin into his chest. "But that would take... empathy or sympathy." Were those the right words?

"Or may-be I just want more information," the Joker sang, flinging the scalpel at the wall opposite the two. He bent down a few inches and stared right in Louis's eyes. "Loook, I'm a man of my woord. Yes?" He stuck his right hand down a pocket on the left side of his jacket pocket. He flourished a new knife, a broad one. He tapped Louis on the nose with the blade. "I need to know how things go in your niece's life. You need to live." He raised an eyebrow. "There's always, alwaaays compromise." The right side of his smile curved up even further.

Louis stared at the Joker blankly for a few minutes before blanching. He glanced away and tightened his grip on his stomach. "You're even worse than I thought," Louis muttered. "Giving a man a choice between dying horribly and living a dirty life."

The Joker cackled, threw his head back and had a good laugh. Louis glanced at the butcher knife dangling from his fingers, but shook his head and looked towards the door.

"Would you promise not to kill her or me, or anyone else in the family?" Louis whispered, bringing his other hand to clench the wound, too.

"Yep. Allll part of the agreeeement. And if you uh, pass. out. before you make a decision, I'll just have to asssuume you disagree with some part of it."

Samantha would have to forgive him.

"Okay. I'll... watch her for you."

The Joker raised an eyebrow and bent down a little further over the man. "I know I don't have to tell you how much explaaaining you'll have to do." Louis glanced away from the man's eyes just in time to see the flash of the knife handle flying at his head. Then he saw nothing.

---

Sam and her mother each clutched at a hand of Louis's. One on either side, they both stared off into different spaces without moving.

He'd showed up outside the automatic doors overnight, the hospital nurses said. Someone'd hacked into the surveillance of the hospital and torn apart the reels that caught them. The police milled outside of the room, at least eight of them. Two per person were to stay with each person where ever they went. The other two were to stay around and take her uncle's statement when he woke up.

The nurses were 90% sure he would wake up. Which was comforting, when her father had been there, they'd all been quiet. None would meet their eyes then. But now the nurses talked freely, chattering about their sons and husbands and Halloween outfits and candy.

She and her mom stared blankly at them. Sometimes they nodded. Sometimes they mumbled back, "No thanks." Sometimes they glared.

But her uncle, he kept sleeping.


	8. eight

This hospital room was a single. Well, it had two beds, and the other one would be occupied had its only patient not been a Joker victim. His victims were notorious for ending up dead-- no matter the number of lives it took to achieve the death of the original target.

The man was unstoppable.

So the beeping of Louis's heart monitor was the only sound in the sterile room, besides his occasional hiccup and the soft breathing of Sam, who sat by his left hand, her arm cushioned on his forearm. Her hair fell over the contours of the thin hospital blanket and down between their arms and over her shoulders, and her back rose a bit with each even breath of hers. She slept even more soundly than the man in the bed.

As her back rose in a breath, her head twitched, jerking a few strands of hair between their arms. Louis stirred, the slight brush being enough to wake him. He squinted against the pale light before tugging a bit at his left arm.

Sam grumbled, but sat up. "What's it-- you're up!" She rocketed out of the chair, sending it to crash into the wall behind her, and threw her arms around the pale man. "Oh, thank God," she mumbled against his neck, not noticing his wince or hiss at the contact. He grimaced and patted her on the back.

"My arm's asleep," he mumbled, wiggling his left fingers as she drew away.

"Sorry," she mumbled, straightening his sheets and keeping her eyes from his face. "I just fell asleep, I guess. I was worried." They were both quiet for a few seconds as she continued picking at the sheets. "Mom'll be back in a few, I guess, she'd just left to get a few magazines and some coffee from down the street. She can't have been gone long."

"Oh, oh. That's good," he croaked. "Could you get me some... water?" Sam nodded erratically, her hair flying around her face. He winced, the Joker'd done that. Her hair was dark and smooth, almost as unlike his green greasy locks as possible, but everything she did reminded him of the deal... The similarities even more so.

"Yeah, hold on." She scrambled out of the room, straightening the chair she'd just catapulted near the door before she left. The door closed slowly behind her.

Louis took a few deep breaths and clenched the recently perfectly straight sheets in his fists, staring at the bland ceiling tiles with unusual concentration before relaxing and shallowing his breathing.

"This is gonna be hell."

"Okay, Uncle, here." Sam re-entered the room in a flurry of action, hair every where and energy sporadic. "The nurses said just a very little at first, sips and all. And the police want a statement, but I've managed to get the nurses to hold them off." She smiled weakly at him as he sloshed the water around in his mouth before swallowing the small sip.

"You're so nervous," he chuckled, averting his eyes from her to the door behind her. When would Natalie get there? She'd be much easier to handle than Sam.

"Yeah, yeah, guess I am," she muttered, staring out the window by the bed next to him. "I just... I'm afraid of what happened to you, I guess."

"Don't be, it was just a mob thing gone wrong. They thought... they thought I was someone else," he mumbled, blinking and tapping his fingers against the plastic sides of his hospital bed. "Just a Gotham mix-up."

She smiled meekly up at him, hiding partially behind that dark hair of hers. Just like her father. God.

"I was afraid it was... y'know. The Joker. And it was all my fault." She shrugged, her mouth in a lopsided line, tilting up and down all at once. She collapsed backwards, falling a bit askew in the blue plastic hospital chair by the door. "I'm so sorry."

"It wasn't your fault," he whispered, trying to convince himself as much as her.

But was it mine, he wondered?

--

The room was a pig sty. Or at least, it had to have been at one point in time. The wallpaper was balloons and farm animals, which had to be some kind of inside joke to the Joker himself, by the way he kept glancing at the little animals and chuckling. A small, two person wooden table leaned against one of the walls, requiring the wall's rather unpredictable support in lieu of a fourth leg. Another leg was propped up on a stack of hard cover books, ranging from a smudged gold paged book to a Dr. Seuss book.

A greying wood chair sat to the side of the small table, with Louis himself perched on the edge, his back rimrod straight and his eyes trained on the purple and green figure by the door frame.

"Dooo you know where the word 'saardonic' comes from?" he asked, tossing his blade in the air, smoothing the cracks of his lips with his greasy saliva. He tainted everything he touched, Louis thought with a spasm of fear.

"No, you freak. I'm not a Goddamned scholar, I'm a tattoo artist," Louis tried to say, tried to toss off with the same casual air as the freak, but the words evaporated in his throat like an ice cube in a microwave. (It must've been some self-preservation instinct.) He merely croaked. The clown took it as a no.

"Greek word, Sardonios. Bitter, or scornful, laughter. The Sardinian plant, uh, it uh-parent-lee made your face convulse into expressions resembling, um, terrible laughter. Then you, you died." The clown cackled, it was his trademark or something, he probably copyrighted it and everything, Louis thought, keeping his eyes away from the glinting silver. As long as he didn't stare at anything of the Joker's too long, anymore he wasn't cut up so much. Smacked about a bit, maybe, but only in unnoticeable places. He felt like a fucking battered woman.

He bit his lower lip to keep from wincing.

He had these meetings biweekly now. He was always five minutes early, the Joker always at least ten minutes late. And they were always Tuesdays. He told his family it was an AA meeting, and hopefully they wouldn't check the papers or his cupboards. (Empty of AA meetings any Tuesdays and full of Jack Daniels, respectively.)

"Whatever. How does this affect me?" Louis muttered, scraping his ripped, grey, but originally white, tennis shoes across the layer of dirt coating the torn wooden floor.

"Louie, Louie, Louie, you just don't get me," the Joker sighed, leaning his purple frame against the peeling wallpaper. "Your uh, your niece, she sure will though," the Joker said with something in a normal person would be called a wistful sigh. But although his eyes tilted upwards, he kept Louis in his peripheral. That man had the most entertaining reactions, especially when it came to that delicious Sam of his.

"Look, you said you'd leave her alone," the man spat, tensing. The Joker could practically see his toes clench up in those threadbare shoes of his.

"Uuuh, I did?" the Joker asked, pausing in his tossing of the knife. "Weeell, that's just too bad." He shrugged. "What's the update this time?"

"She's just going to college. She's not got much time on her hands, between work and school. She's really not, uh, she's not interesting at all!" his voice squeaked a little, right at the end.

"Wellll, Lou. I sure hope you're not, uh, not lying. Or else, that'd mean, well, that'd mean I could go back on my word, as well." He tapped the handle of the knife against his thigh, feeling the smooth silver cool on the rough pads of his fingers.

Lou scoffed and shook his head, staring at his hands and clenching them. "She's going out on a date tonight. With some boy from school."

"Name?" the Joker questioned sharply.

"Erm, David something. Real bland name. Something dull," he rambled, twisting his right ring finger. "I guess, I guess they've had this going on for... for a while?"

"What?" The 't' came out more sharply than the rest of the word, jerking Louis's head up.

"She-she didn't tell anyone! Her mother and I, we just pulled it outta her the other day. We didn't know, no lies, none!" his voice slurred together into a high-pitched whine after the first half of his declaration, his eyes widening and hands shaking, not even able to continue wringing each other.

The Joker took a step forward, malice gleaming in his dark eyes, his heavy step echoing through the small room. "I'm not quite sure I believe you. I guess you'll have to, uh, convincee me."

---

The diner was crowded. The dinner rush just started, and it was a very popular college hang out. The pizza was cheap, greasy, and the slices were huge. Smoothies were a bit more expensive, but definitely worth it every time. And it wasn't that far from Gotham University at all, just a few blocks, and they were well-lit, too.

In a back booth, Sam sat across from a boy with dark hair. His eyes were hidden by a pair of thin glasses, and his hair was a bit disheveled. He grinned at her, his eyes never leaving hers, although hers darted about the room like a distracted child. His face was dotted with a few scars, but for the most part he wasn't unappealing.

"Did you hear about the University's history of psychology professors? That Scarecrow guy taught my brother a few classes a few years ago, and Professor Gray was found last week. He hung himself in his closet," he said, tapping his fingers against the table. Sam inched her own clasped hands towards his, and he took the hint, wrapping his around hers.

"Have they found a replacement for him?" she asked, blinking her eyes and refocusing on him. "I mean, I guess probably not. But the Psychology 101 class must be pretty chaotic without a teacher."

"Yeah, it's crazy," he said, tracing a path on her left hand with his right thumb. "I was thinking of becoming a psychology professor or something, too, but with that kind of track record I'm reconsidering."

He smiled and she smiled back, just as the man in the black hoodie and dark wash jeans in the corner across from them snapped a picture.


End file.
